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05 October 2008 @ 11:42 pm
Theatrical Muse: Week 250: Question 250  
Name: Dr. Sid Hammerback

Fandom: CSI: New York

Word Count: 953


Write page 57 of your 300-page autobiography.


Married life was fun. Married life had been fun, more specifically.

He still remembered everything about her. Her eyes, her hands, the smoothness of her skin and the warmth of her touch. Her red, red hair, and her boiling hot lips. The way her subtle graces bended even the stiffest of his wills, amongst other things, and how, when he was with her, he felt graced by the most supreme royalty. That slight pretence with which she fell on him after sex, her breathing stilted, ragged, but her eyes firing, smouldering, all those typical things, those words, that spilt forth from cheap holiday romance novels. She made their thoughts coalesce with just one look, and could always bring him back from the brink of exhaustion, with just one stare. He remembered everything about her, and even though he had her captured in video, in song, in sound, in photographs, in handwriting and silly little notes and love letters, it would never be enough. It would never be enough to make him stop missing her, and never be enough, not ever, to bring her back, not that such a thing was possible anyway.


The man was up, standing on the tips of his toes in worn ballet shoes, flimsy cotton pants adorning his legs, falling around his ankles. He wore an undershirt and his glasses were starting to fog up, but he kept dancing, kept leaping and twirling, bending and swaying to the music in timing perfection. The sound filled his ears and quelled out any questioning thoughts with glorious rhythm and tempo, but the pain remained, still stabbed at his heart and ripped through his chest. And he kept dancing, pulling himself up, forwards, and around, over and over again, hanging onto the chance that the longing might just soften if he pushed himself over the edge until he could go no further. It didn’t.


More than a million seconds he had been without her, more than a million ticks of the clock she had not been by his side. He felt royal for having been with her, but now, that feeling, that emotion of unbridled joy and unrestricted happiness, the he gained by actually being with her, was gone. He had no wife to shine next to, no one who knew his history, his likes, his dislikes and kinks like she had. He had no one that he knew as intimately, romantically, as he had her, left. He had people left, had parents and family and her family, but, theirs had been a special kind of closeness, something familial, but also, beyond familial. When he got sad, it showed on his face, and he knew it. When he couldn’t bear to admit the truth, he filled the air with pretence and tried to keep himself safe. Sometimes, he hated himself for it, and sometimes, not quite so much.


Life as we know it, often occurs in a series of events that vary in importance. Those that are somehow memorable, are sometimes indeed, remembered. I remember my wedding day, I remember the birth of my children, and those events from when they were growing up. I still have all their pictures, all their schoolbooks and toys. And it hurts, yes it does, hurt, because I married my true love, I married my perfect match in life, and I spent decades with her by my side. She and I had a life together, had children together, and they were meant to grow up tall and big be and strong. We were meant to grow old together, because we were meant for each other, and we knew it. I remember September 11 also, I remember planes and fire and pure terror. I remember being frozen in place, and then I remember helping out. I remember realising that they were gone, and I remember loss, I remember funerals, empty coffins, eulogies, all those things. All those things which are memorable, I remember, and even those that are painful, I remember, because the memory of everything that was, and is no more, is not something that goes away, not with time or years or anything.


Millennia ago, the human race reached out and became more than tree climbing apes. We became brilliant, and it is because of this brilliance that we fell forth to beauty and ugliness. We created, we invented and we rejoice, we battle, we win, we lose. We have carved out our place in remembered history as something great. I am grateful, yes, that I got to meet someone so brilliant as my wife, and, resultantly, my children. I know I was lucky to succeed where many fail, I know that. I know that the human race is brilliant, but I also know, firsthand, that it can be corrupted, evil and beyond the worst of ugliness. In a hundred years, people may remember the planes that destroyed my family, but they probably won’t remember all the individuals that perished because of them, and they almost certainly won’t know of or remember me or the other families like me. In the end, we are all but dust, but while we are here, we are brilliant, we can be brilliant, and because of that, because of Marianne, Christopher and Michael, I will live. Because I live, my memories are remembered, and they are important, they have great importance.

I have lost some of the greatest things in my life, but I continue. Some people may not know what it is like to lose loved ones, or to lose them in such circumstances, but that is fair play. I have loved, I have lost, I have grieved, and I continue. I am brilliant, and I know it.
 
 
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